Imma be a bit cheesy with this one, at least for the introduction. But the story will follow the detailed life of a man tasked with hunting for his family, one who encounters something unexpected on his daily excursion, leading to a relationship that will last a lifetime.
It was a normal day for Thragg. He woke up, slowly and carefully stretching his middle aged muscles as to not tear something getting up. He threw his legs over the side of the linen lined bed, but not before planting a gentle kiss on his sleeping wifeās forehead. She opened her eyes briefly, a slight smile tugging at the edges for her face before falling back into slumber.
As he got ready to head out on his morning hunt, he glanced to the living room, where two tiny girls aged no more than six, lay passed out on the sofa. A smile spilled onto his face as he turned, grabbing some dried meat for breakfast before ever so gently closing the door.
It was a stark contrast. The woodsy smell of the cabin mixed with the various candles they used for light, vs the crisp smell of fresh air mingled with pine. It was his home away from home, as Thragg put it. This forest had been providing his village with safety, protection, and sustenance for generations. As he waved to a neighbor, he heard the distant snapping of dried leaves. A good sign, for it indicated creatures, likely deer, were present. His mouth watered at the thought. It had been so long since heād had some good venison. Thragg apologized to his friend whoād been talking, before excusing himself, carefully making his way into the woods.
Eventually Thragg found his way into a rather large clearing. The long grass swayed in the wind, the yellow tips of grain bending towards him signified he was downwind from his prey. Deer, white tails by the look of it. There were a few bucks but an abundance of fawns, as well as even more does. He notched an arrow from his leather quiver, taking careful aim with his old ash wood longbow, its string frayed at the ends and a brownish white as opposed to the stark white it had once retained. He steadied his breath and shot, praying to the gods that his homemade arrow didnāt shatter upon impact. It struck true, having impaled the animals heart. The rest of the herd immediately scattered, signature white tails held high as they fled. He moved with haste to end the poor animalās suffering, slitting its throat before beginning to pull the animal towards a nearby rock outcropping.
After successfully skinning the animal he began the arduous work of slicing off portions of meat. Nothing would go to waste, the village had a use for everything. After about an hour heād transferred the various components of the deer into their respective bags, he was covered in blood, and would rather be somewhat clean before entering the village looking like a madman or murderer. He had heard a waterfall not too far off, and decided he would pay it a visit before returning to his home and resigning to spend the day with his little angels.
After a quick rinse he felt clean, no longer sticky with the smell of iron filling his nostrils. He packed dawned all his bags before setting offā¦. Until a something blocked out the sun. Run. He took off sprinting towards the village, the hissing sound as flames licked at his boots propelling him forwards with uncanny speed. The heat was unbearable, and sharp pain splintered up his backside. He heard crashing, diving to the side as a claw with talons the size of a horse, peeled through the trees, like a sickle through stalks of grain. Heād heard tale of dragons, seen the damage they cause, but never had the misfortune of seeing one, let alone be hunted by it.
He sprinted with all his might, adrenaline spurring him on. But as it faded, he came to a realization. He was heading back towards the village. What would they do? Throw stones at it. He had to lead it away, but how, if he changed directions it would catch him, not that he wasnāt already certain it was playing with its food. But what other choice did he have? He made a turn before he could think further, immediately tripping on a loose branch. He recovered quickly as jaws clamped shut behind him. It was hard to believe he was alive, he felt elated, ignoring the fact that he would tire out eventually, or maybe he wouldnāt make it that far. His heart sank as one of his many bags dragged him off the ground and into the air. He screeched as he was thrown 50 feet into air, all the way until they were cut off by the snapping of a maw.
Thraggās life flashed before his eyes, he saw his wife and kids as the adrenaline was flushed out of his system, replaced by ice cold terror. The darkness around him sparred his heart, as the slick tongue swirled beneath him, and saliva dripped down from the āceilingā, razor sharp teeth framing the jaw and a vacuous gullet staged at the back. What he could see and hear was deafening, overwhelming bodily functions. The breathing of the dragon, the inhales and exhales, he could hear perfectly, with piercing clarity. The warmth of the tongue and saliva was almost too much, it was hot but not boiling. The musty air smelled of blood and rotting food, and the humidity was nearly unbearable. All this and more had the poor man begging for death. But the monster around him had other plans. He was rolled around for what seemed like ages, pushed and pulled, pressed against the palate and teeth until eventually, finally he felt, his surrounding tipped back. He wasnāt even phased he was being eaten alive. There was nothing he could do about it, and the dragon had fit the cruelty they were portrayed to portray. His only thought as he lost consciousness from the crushing of the beasts throat, was that had he done it over again, heād be a farmer, not a hunter.
